


We'll Get There, You and I

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A TRUE CLASSIC, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And probably a happy middle too, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Extremis!Tony, Gen, Irondad, Mind the Tags, Pepper and Tony aren't married, Peter Needs a Hug, Recovery, Suicide Attempt, The ol' Surprise! I'm Alive Reveal, Tony Stark Lives, bit of Hurt/Comfort, but Pepper is still awesome, endgame spoilers, no morgan stark, via tinkering and hugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-10-01 21:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20416490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Five years is a long time to be dead. Peter came back to a world that had passed him by and he doesn't know how to catch up. If only the one person that he really needed to get him through this wasn't gone...An AU where Peter is struggling with depression after coming back from the Snap and Tony isn't as dead as he seems.





	We'll Get There, You and I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please look over the tags before reading! This chapter in particular could be very triggering for some people. If you're feeling any of the things described in this chapter, please, call [the suicide hotline](https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/) or seek other avenues of help. Stay safe, everyone :) 

Peter couldn’t put on the suit.

Scratch that. Peter couldn’t even _ look _at the suit. Not without remembering vacant eyes and the smell of burning flesh. 

The one time he’d tried to force himself to go out as Spiderman he’d barely caught a glimpse of the suit, tucked away in a white garment box that Pepper Potts had handed him after the funeral, and the world had felt like it’d dropped out from beneath his feet. 

Spiderman couldn’t change anything. Spiderman couldn’t save anybody where it counted. Uncle Ben was dead because of him. Iron Man was dead because of him. Worst of all, _ Tony Stark _ was dead because of him. Everyone knew he’d come up with that crazy time travel plan because he'd wanted to save Peter Parker. And it had killed him in the end.

The strap on his backpack slid down an inch or so when the train swayed on a corner and he didn’t bother adjusting it. A song he didn’t recognize blared in his ears, blocking out most of the hum of the early morning commuters around him. As a half-hearted attempt to catch up with the world that had sped away without him after the Snap, he’d put together a playlist of all the top hits from the past five years. Perhaps unsurprisingly, a lot of them were freaking depressing. Maybe that’s why he was obsessing over his inability to be the hero that everybody expected him to be.

Or maybe it was the way May had asked him what he planned to do after school that morning with a hopeful lilt to her voice. The Peter he had been before he became dust would have been overjoyed that his Aunt was actually encouraging him to go out on patrol.

He glanced up when the car jolted and his stop scrolled across the screen at the front. He breathed in and let it out in a rush before trudging off the train, nodding half-heartedly to a boy in his grade at school when they made eye contact on the platform before letting his attention slide away.

He wondered if the boy had been one of those returned from the Snap, or if he was the age he’d always expected himself to be in 2023. Judging by the healthy glow and lack of shadows in his eyes, he’d guess that latter. 

He was winded by the time he got to the top of the stairs, but he did his best not to show it. Even his enhancements couldn’t keep up with his insomnia and lack of appetite. Aunt May had to go to work before she had a chance to force him to eat and her fiancé, Mark, was still trying too hard to win Peter over to force the issue beyond pressing an apple into his hand as he left the house. Peter had given it to a homeless woman sitting outside the steps to the subway stop next to his house.

The bright lights of the school hurt his eyes, sent the throbbing in his head that had followed him around for months to new heights, but he did his best to ignore it and made his way to his locker, reaching up and putting in his combination on autopilot. He sighed when the latch stayed stubbornly locked and patiently spun the dial again to clear it and start over.

“Um. I think - sorry, but that’s my locker.” Peter twitched and turned to look at the girl next to him, who seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe from Spanish class? He looked back over at the locker number. 27A, that was his, had been since Freshman - oh.

He dropped his hand and stepped back, then reached up to fumble with his earbud and tug it out, letting the low roar of hundreds of students making their way up and down the hallway surround him. Overwhelming, and thankfully distracting. “Uh. Sorry. Habit.”

Her smile was strained and more than a bit sympathetic. “That’s okay,” she said gently. 

Everyone was so damn _ careful _ with him - with all of the returned. He hadn’t been bullied once since he’d come back to school, not that any of his past tormentors were around anymore. Either they hadn’t been Snapped out of existence, or they hadn’t managed to get their spot back at Midtown. The world was having a hard time reintegrating everybody. Schools were overfull and unemployment was at an all-time high. Peter had only gotten enrolled because of Ms. Potts, he knew, who had been extremely involved in his re-entry into life despite the fact that she and Mr. Stark weren’t even together at the end. Though she had been given most of his assets, along with Colonel Rhodes. _ He loved you, Peter, he’d want me to help you. _

Peter swallowed and did his best to smile. “Right. Uh, I’m just going to,” he pointed vaguely over his shoulder before turning to trudge down the hall to what was now his locker, not even caring that his eyes were burning and probably over-bright. It was just a stupid locker, he needed to get a grip.

He successfully put his stuff away and pulled out the books he needed for English. He made it to the classroom just before the bell rang and collapsed into his seat in the back. 

Ms. Stein came in and clapped her hands together. “Alright, everyone. Hand forward your papers.”

Peter froze, wide-eyed. He’d forgotten all about the paper due today. How could he have forgotten? Actually, it wasn’t that unusual for him these days. It wasn’t that he was purposefully not doing things, it’s just, he felt so foggy all the time. Sometimes he’d lay down on his bed and end up staring at the ceiling for hours before coming back to himself. Usually, he was thinking about how things used to be, getting lost in memories of his old apartment with May, of feeling strong and confident as he swung through the streets. Of working on his web-shooters with Mr. -

He shied away from those thoughts and forced his breathing to remain normal. The girl in front of him - Kiera, he was pretty sure - turned back to take his paper. He shook his head, a jerky motion, and she only hesitated a moment before turning back around. There was no embarrassment or guilt welling up in him. Just a grim sort of resignation at the upcoming call to Aunt May and the unavoidable conversation they’d have after.

What was failing out of high school in the face of, of _ everything, _anyway? What did it really matter in the end? He made it through the rest of his morning classes on autopilot - luckily he’d actually done his Biochem homework, though he couldn’t remember what it covered if he’d been pressed. 

At lunch, he dutifully ate the sandwich that his Aunt had packed him and pushed his chips towards Frank, who Peter suspected only sat next to him every day because he could rely on him not to try to speak to him while Frank read whatever sci-fi novel he had in front of him. He would have hated the old Peter, who wouldn’t have been able to stop his excited questions about the robot on the front cover, or rambling on about his theories about aliens or space travel.

“Thanks,” Frank muttered and Peter nodded. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Frank wore tatty clothes and ate school lunch every day that Peter suspected was subsidized. Nobody deserved the torture of eating school lunch on the regular. 

Peter stared down at the table until the fake grain morphed into one big brown haze. When the bell rang, he had to force himself to leave behind the relative calm of Frank and the lunch table. 

The day blurred around him as most of them had the past five months, the details indistinct and unimportant. Peter could never decide whether he hated or appreciated the repetitiveness of it all. Well, it’s not like he had anything better to do. Instead of heading straight home, Peter wandered around the city, taking in his old haunts, the details that hadn’t changed and the ones that had. 

It was getting dark by the time he caught a train back to the Upper West Side, where he now lived in an apartment that felt sterile compared to the comfortable, cramped clutter of his and May's old place or the organized chaos of Mr. Stark’s lab. 

Mark and May were both in the kitchen making dinner when he got home. He stood in the doorway watching as they moved around each other, May cutting something on a large board while Mark added spices to what smelled like a pot of chili on the stove. They looked so comfortable together. And why shouldn’t they, after three years of dating? They were engaged to be married, of course they were comfortable with each other.

Mark was the first to spot him and he smiled, wide and genuine. “Heya, Peter.” He’d only tried to call him Pete once. It hadn’t gone over well. “Dinner’s almost ready. We expected you earlier. Were you, you know,” he held up a hand and made Spiderman’s signature web-shooting motion. May had spilled the beans at some point when Peter was still dead. He supposed he couldn’t be angry with her for confiding in her fiancè.

“Uh, no. No, just...walking around.” He ignored the looks the two adults exchanged and dropped his backpack by the door before making his way to the already-set table, pausing long enough to let May kiss his forehead. An awkward silence fell, all of the warmth that had filled the kitchen slowly draining away, sucked away by the yawning black hole that Peter had apparently become.

“How was school, baby?” May asked before setting a full bowl down in front of him. She always looked unsure around him these days. Five years was a long time to be gone and Peter knew he wasn’t the same person he’d been before. 

“Um. It was good.”

“You eat with Frank again?”

He’d told her about Frank in an attempt to get her to stop worrying about his inability to connect to others and he constantly regretted it. She was always pressuring him to bring him to dinner and asking about him, desperate for any sign that Peter was settling in. Moving on.

“Yeah. It was, uh, good. How were your guys’ days?”

Peter listened to May rant about a man who had come in convinced he was having a heart attack despite his wife insisting he was just having heartburn from the meatball sub she had been convinced he’d snuck out to eat against doctor’s orders. By the end of it, she and Mark were both laughing and Peter’s lips were quirked up in a small.

Mark wrapped his arm around her and kissed her temple. “I wonder if we’ll be like that in twenty years?”

Peter doubted it. Mark was one of the fittest non-superhero men he’d ever met and meatball sandwiches didn’t seem like his style. May had told Peter once that everyone at the hospital called him Dr. Gorgeous instead of his actual name, Dr. Borgeus. Apparently, she was the envy of many of the women and some of the men at work. 

Peter cleared his throat. “And, uh, your day, Dr., uh, I mean, Mark?” 

It was more than a little awkward, but May was beaming as if he’d just welcomed him into the family with a hug or something. Peter wasn't mean to him or even snippy for the most part, but he hadn’t exactly engaged with him, either. He was only trying now because he’d overheard May crying on the phone with Pepper about how much he hated the life he’d been brought back to. Which was true, but he’d rather not stress May out since there was nothing she could do to change it. 

“It was good, Peter, thanks for asking.” He then told Peter about the heart surgery he’d performed, and Peter wanted to be annoyed at how likable he was, but honestly, May deserved the best of everything. Even if it left Peter on the outside looking in.

May didn’t corner him until after he’d eaten two bowls of chile under her watchful eye. “I got an email from Ms. Stein today.”

Peter scraped his spoon along the bottom of the bowl and made a humming sound. May sighed. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you do that paper?”

“Forgot,” he said shortly, already tired from this conversation and ready to escape to his room.

“You - honey, that’s not a very good reason.”

He managed a shrug and a moment later May’s hand appeared over his own, stilling the scraping motion. He swallowed and looked up at her through his too-long hair. Her resigned, sad expression made his eyes sting.

“I’m sorry. I really - I really did just forget.”

“I know - I know things have been. Hard for you. But you’re on thin ice. The school is willing to be patient due to everything you’ve been through but eventually they’ll have to give your spot to somebody who actually wants it.”

“Like Ms. Potts will let them,” he muttered and he knew he sounded petulant but the way all of the adults in his life expected him to just move on was an insult. How could he just move on from losing Mr. Stark, from losing his whole _ life? _

“Pepper has done a lot to help you, Peter, and I won’t have you acting ungrateful.”

Peter stood so fast that his chair toppled over. Mark flinched at the sound. His face suddenly felt very hot and his chest was tight. “I never asked for that! I never asked for her to - to find me a therapist, or make that stupid trust for college, or, or to give me that suit! I don’t want it! I don’t want any of it!”

He turned and fled the room, ignoring May’s stricken expression and Mark’s shocked one. He grabbed his backpack on the way and didn’t stop until he reached his door, slamming it shut behind him. He pulled out his phone and put in his earbuds.

“I just don’t know what to _ do -” _

“Hush, it’s okay, he just needs time -”

Peter turned the music up to block out their conversation and laid back on his covers while he waited for his heart rate to slow and his tears to dry up. He didn’t want to hurt May, but he just couldn’t be what she wanted. The situation itself was cruel, two puzzle pieces who used to fit together perfectly and were trying desperately to do so again. But they just didn’t anymore. No matter how hard they tried. Peter didn’t fit anywhere, all his edges were worn down too far.

The music cut off when his phone rang and he wasn’t surprised to see it was Ned calling. May had probably texted him. Another person who Peter didn’t recognize. Ned was in his third year at Berkeley now. He didn’t obsess over legos anymore. He was focused on projects for his computer science courses, or waxing poetic about his girlfriend, who he planned to propose to as soon as they graduated. 

He tried but, just like May, they were out of sync. There had been too much time lost between them. Peter knew that Ned saw him as a kid, now, someone he felt responsible for due to their past. It made Peter jittery every time they talked, a stark reminder of just how much he’d lost. Peter didn’t even know where MJ was at - her mother had relocated them after the Snap took her father.

Peter hit the ignore button.

oOo

Ms. Stein let him turn in the paper two days late, though she docked him a full letter grade for his tardiness. Frank had stopped sitting at his table. Actually, he’d stopped sitting in the cafeteria at all. Peter suspected he was spending lunch in the library. It was surprising how abandoned he felt. 

He threw away his lunch after eating half his PB&J before making his way to Calculus where his teacher gleefully announced a pop quiz. Peter stared down at the questions and the numbers swam in front of his eyes. He took a breath and brought his focus onto the first problem, blocking out anything else. Math was easy, math was natural. He could do this.

He only finished half the quiz before giving up.

It was raining when he got outside and he put up his hood and slipped in his earbuds. He was supposed to meet May at his therapist’s office in half an hour. The dread settled like an ache in his bones. 

It wasn’t that he believed therapy didn’t work - no, he knew better. It was just that he didn’t think it could work for _ him. _ Being forced to go by May didn’t make it much more appealing. There was no solving what was wrong with him. There was no bringing back the dead. There was no getting his old life back. Or maybe it was that he just didn’t want to move on. Maybe he just didn't want this world.

After a moment’s hesitation, he turned right, away from the train stop. Even through the poppy music blaring in his ears, he could hear the rain hitting the top of his hood, a soothing staccato. It reminded him of the time he’d gotten his ass kicked by a villain with guns that shot electrical currents during a rainstorm. Mr. Stark had showed up and blasted the guy before he could finish Peter off.

“Hey, I had him!” Peter had slurred when Mr. Stark picked him up, still in the suit.

“Yeah, sure, the drowned rat look is incredibly intimidating. Very convincing Pete - Jesus, you’re literally smoking, kid.”

Peter’s lips quirked up on one side at the memory before falling into their now-usual frown. The soles of his shoes splashed through the puddles forming on the sidewalk and he ignored the people taking cover in doorways and under awnings. By the time the rain slowed he was soaked through and shivering and had ignored three calls from May. She was going to be so pissed when he got home.

For a moment he imagined just not going back. He could find a bridge to hide under and just stay there, until...

He turned the corner into an alley that he knew would spit him out next to a station and stopped, a weak tingle going up his spine. Not that he needed the warning to know there was trouble. Four boys were surrounding something - a person - next to an overfull dumpster. It took him a moment to realize he recognized her. It was the girl whose locker he’d accidentally tried to break into. Her backpack had been ripped open, her things strewn out across the sidewalk. The boys were all in their late teens or early twenties and they towered over her.

One of them had ahold of her arm and gave her a shake. Peter tugged his earbuds out just in time to hear him say, “ - ten bucks? Seriously, that’s all?”

He remembered the kind smile she’d given him despite the awkwardness of the situation last week. There were tears on her cheeks, but her spine was straight. “I - yes, I - I can get more, please, just -”

“Leave her alone.” 

Everyone stopped and turned towards him and it wasn’t until his feet were moving that Peter realized that it was him who’d spoken. His heart was thundering in his chest and his hands were shaking because he just didn’t _ do _ this sort of thing anymore, but he didn’t stop. No matter how far he’d fallen, Peter Parker couldn’t walk away from something like this.

The one holding her arm dropped it and looked him up and down before laughing. “And what’s a scrawny little dork like you gonna do about it?”

Peter ran a hand down his face, wiping away some of the water that was still dripping from his hair. He looked at the girl. “Go get help.”

She hesitated for only a moment before backing up a step to try and edge around them. One of the boys reached for her arm. Peter was across the space seperating them before the boy could touch her and sent him sprawling with a kick. Thankfully, the girl didn’t stop to scream or stare at him in shock like the other three boys. She took off running.

“Hey!” One of them yelled but she was already out the end of the alley, the sounds of her shoes slapping the wet sidewalk echoing around them. 

Then all of their attention was on him again. He looked between them, taking in their young faces. He could take them. Of course, he could. But...Peter was tired, and revealing that he had super strength would do him no favors.

He didn’t dodge the first punch. Or the second. He didn’t resist when one of them pushed him down. He curled up on the ground and every blow they landed felt like it was happening to someone else. 

Spiderman would have fought back, he knew. But Spiderman had died with Tony Stark.

oOo

Peter woke to the beeping of medical equipment and the familiar thump of May’s heart next to him. Hospital, then. He breathed in deep and corrected himself when the faint smell of ash reached his nose. He must be in the medical bay in the now-rebuilt Avengers compound. Well, that was unfortunate. The beeping sped up.

“Peter?” May’s voice cracked on his name and he gave up on pretending to be asleep.

It was dim in the room, which he appreciated, and it took him a few seconds to focus on May’s face. Her eyes were swollen and there were deep bags beneath them. “Hey, baby,” she whispered.

He accepted the cup of water she held up to him, drinking deeply from the straw, then fumbled with the remote to the bed until he was sitting up. _ Broken ribs, _ he thought dispassionately at the twinges in his side. Probably a concussion, and he could tell by the tight, swollen feeling over most of his body that he was bruised to hell.

“Hey, May.” He stared down at his hands, not bothering to ask what happened.

“Oh, Pete. Why - why didn’t you fight back?”

He glanced over at her. “Who said I didn’t?”

“FRIDAY pulled up footage from a security camera nearby. Pete, you just, you just sat there and let those boys -”

This time when her voice broke she didn’t try to keep going. Peter swallowed. Why couldn’t he be better than this? Why did he have to keep dragging May down with him? “I just don’t want to fight anymore,” he whispered. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” She stood up so she could lean over and hug him gently. “I know you don’t. But you can’t just stand by while bad things happen to you, you know? I mean, what would I do if you died?”

Peter blinked and managed to stutter out a platitude and promise to be more careful. But his mind was stuck on that question. What _ would _ happen to May if he died? It used to be such a huge part of the things he worried about, leaving May all alone. But...May wasn’t alone anymore. She’d built a whole life, a _ good _ life, while he’d been dust. A better one than she’d had when it was just the two of them. If Peter died May would be _ fine. _ Maybe even better than fine, since she wouldn’t have him hovering over her life like a black cloud.

The realization didn’t make him sad. In fact, it filled him with such a profound relief that it took a long time to tune into the conversation again. “...your teachers are sending me your homework, so you don’t have to worry, okay?”

Peter nodded and smiled and let her squeeze his hand. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door frame and Dr. Banner stepped into the room. It was still odd, seeing him with green skin and large features, but Peter was glad he’d found a balance between him and the Hulk. Mr. Stark used to tell him stories about Bruce Banner and Peter knew how much he’d worried about him after his disappearance.

“Hey, Peter. Mind if I check you over?”

Peter shook his head shyly. He’d met Bruce at the funeral and a few times after when he’d accompanied Ms. Potts to see how Peter was settling into his new life. “No, go ahead, Dr. Banner.” 

His hands were large and warmer than the average person’s. Peter patiently answered questions and listened to him explain what he was doing with half an ear. The rest of his attention was still stuck on his epiphany and trying to figure out why it had made him feel so happy.

There was something lurking in the edges of his mind, a decision that he hadn’t even been consciously aware of making, and part of him wanted to cry as the weight that had been on him for the past five months began to release his hold. It was the promise of escape. Because nobody was left to _ need _ him, not as Peter Parker and not as Spiderman.

It took a good thirty seconds to realize that May had excused herself to shower and left them alone. Peter assumes it was on purpose.

Dr. Banner was done with his exam and had now taken her chair, though it looked ready to buckle under his weight. He smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knee, posture open and inviting. Peter recognized that expression - it was the one the adults in his life used when they were trying to get him to open up.

“With your advanced healing, you should be on your feet in just a few days.”

“Um. Alright, thanks, Dr. Banner.”

He nodded slowly, once, and Peter shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. “May told me you’ve been skipping your therapy appointments.”

Peter pressed his lips together to stop any number of replies ranging from _ that’s none of your business, _ to _ May shouldn’t be talking about me behind my back. _For some reason, all of the adults that had been close to Mr. Stark before he died had decided to take an interest in him. They seemed almost weirdly guilty, as though his suffering was their fault. Which was ridiculous- it was obviously the other way around.

He settled on a noncommittal shrug and picked at a cuticle. Dr. Banner waited, probably giving him a chance to speak before continuing. “Peter, I know things have been rough, that maybe you feel...unmoored...”

“You know, I’m pretty tired, Dr. Banner. Can we, um, just not?”

He expected him to react with sorrow or annoyance, but Peter was surprised when he just chuckled. “You remind me of him.” 

Peter’s head shot up before he could help himself. “You mean -” he stopped and swallowed convulsively. He hadn’t been able to say his name out loud since it happened.

“Tony bottled things up, too. And he wouldn’t have been able to walk away from someone in trouble, either, even knowing that he couldn’t fight back.”

Peter ducked his head. “He was a true hero. He wouldn’t have let them do that to him.”

“Maybe, maybe not. The way he acted after he got back from Titan was actually pretty similar to what you’re going through, I think. The only thing that got him up and moving again was the hope that he could bring you back.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. It was nice, hearing that Mr. Stark had loved him that much, but it was also devastating because that love had gotten him killed. So he just waited for Dr. Banner to get to the point, whatever reassurance or pleas that would be designed to get Peter to stop being such a mess.

“It would break his heart to see you this way, Peter.”

Peter clenched his teeth together. It wasn’t the first time somebody had said that to him, and he knew that Mr. Stark would be disappointed in him, he did, but it seemed cruel to use it as a way to manipulate Peter into acting the way they wanted. He took a deep breath and let it out and a moment later the thought that had been skirting the edges of his mind became clear. _ There was nothing keeping him there. _

He couldn’t think about putting on the suit without becoming a mess of tears and anxiety, his Aunt didn’t need him anymore, and Mr. Stark - well, he would never know what Peter planned on doing because he was dead. 

Peter didn’t have to stay. He closed his eyes at the sweetness of the thought. 

“Peter?” Dr. Banner sounded concerned and he forced himself to open his eyes. 

He wasn’t stupid - he knew that if anybody suspected for even a second that he was thinking this way, they’d watch him like a hawk. It took him a few tries to speak, but when he did he was surprised by how normal he sounded. “You’re right, Dr. Banner. I - I know I need to do better. I promise to go to therapy next week and what happened today won’t happen again. I think I was just surprised and I kind of - I just froze, you know?”

He felt a little bad at how relieved Dr. Banner seemed, but not bad enough to back out of what he’d decided to do. How could he, when all it brought him was relief?

oOo

They went back to the apartment the next day. Peter was happier than he’d been since that last horrible battle (that hug) and though May and Mark were obviously confused, they were just as obviously ecstatic by his change in attitude. He’d feel bad if the proof of how miserable he’d been making them wasn’t right in front of him.

Peter spent most of the next two days watching movies on the couch with May while he healed. She’d taken the time off work and even though it meant Peter had to push his plans back, he didn’t really mind. He had to plan, anyway. His metabolism and healing factor made things more difficult and he needed to find a way to make this work the first time with as little trauma to himself and the people around him as possible.

“Aunt May, can we go to the storage unit today?” he asked at breakfast on the third day. He was mostly healed, ribs barely twinging and bruises a light yellow color.

“Sure, sweetheart. What do you need?”

“Oh, well, I wanted to get some of my old posters. For my room,” he lied and had to look away at how much she brightened.

“Of course. We’ll leave right after breakfast.”

The car ride was spent debating whether or not the quality in Netflix originals had gone down the past five years. To his relief, May stayed in the car while he went inside. He glanced over his shoulder before heading to the very back where Ben’s old things were stored. He still remembered when he’d helped May pack it up.

He could barely stand to look at any of it, and had just been shoving things into boxes, trying to pretend that they were just doing some spring cleaning. He could still remember the pill bottles he’d found in the top drawer of his dresser from the time when Ben had hurt his back. They’d been mostly full since Ben didn’t like the way the painkillers and muscle relaxants made him feel. Peter opened three boxes before he found them and he shoved them hastily into his backpack before hurrying over to the boxes labeled _ Peter’s Room _and grabbed a few posters at random.

They picked up Chinese on the way home and Peter had to swallow back the guilt and regret when May chattered the whole time, looking so hopeful that it broke his heart. Peter couldn’t pull himself out of the miasma of grief and shock he’d been stuck in, though, and things would be better this way.

_ Better for who? _ A small voice in the back of his head asked. 

_ Better for everybody, _ he replied, firm. He mostly believed it.

Mark was there when they got home and insisted on helping Peter hang up his posters. The first was a Star Wars poster, which went above his bed. Next was the periodic table and he didn’t argue when Mark suggested putting it above his desk where it’d be most useful. When he unrolled the last poster, he had to sit down on his bed when the air left him in a rush.

He held it open and just stared, taking in the smirking face and writing in the lower left-hand corner. _ To the best intern from the best mentor. ~TS _

His lower lip trembled when he remembered the day he’d walked into his room and saw that his poster of Tony Stark, the Expo 2012 edition, had been signed after an awkward family dinner that May had invited him to. 

Mark sat down next to him, hesitant, but Peter didn’t pull away when he clamped a hand down on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, Peter. May told me what he meant to you.”

He swallowed and let the poster roll back up. “Thanks. I, um. I think I might not put this one up. 

Mark squeezed once, lightly, before standing. “Sure. You wanna go eat? Maybe watch a movie?”

He was so, so happy that May had found such a kind, solid person to share her life with. Peter nodded and went out to spend his last evening with what was left of his family. 

The next morning felt surreal. This was the last time he’d eat breakfast with May. The last time he’d help her track down her keys so she wouldn’t be late.

“You sure you’ll be okay here all by yourself?” May asked as she pulled on her coat. Peter took in her messy bun and familiar, kind eyes. They had deep bags under them and Peter knew that her insomnia and stress could be laid directly at his feet.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, breathing in deeply, committing her scent to memory. Five years later, and she still smelled like vanilla and citrus. She startled but didn’t hesitate to return the hug. “You okay, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just. I’m really sorry I’ve been so hard. I promise things are going to get better now.”

“Oh, Pete. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She ran her hand through his curls and something dark twisted in him. He wondered if she’d still feel that way tomorrow morning.

“Bye, Aunt May,” he said, pulling away and smiling up at her. “I love you. I’m really - I’m so glad I had you and Ben.”

Her brow furrowed. “You still have me, baby.”

“Oh - yeah, I know that. I just. I mean after my parents...”

Her expression relaxed a bit but she still hesitated before stepping away from him. “I’m going to be late.”

Peter flapped his hand at her. “Better get going then.”

She started to turn, but stopped and looked back at him. “I can call in.”

He felt how soft his smile was. “Nah, I’ll be okay. Mark’s still here for a few hours, anyway. Maybe he’ll watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine with me.”

Her smile was bright. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure he will.” She gave him another hug and kiss to the forehead before leaving and he stood staring at the closed door for a long moment before he heard Mark step out of his and May’s bedroom.

“Hey, Peter. What’re your plans today?”

He turned and studied the man in front of him, trying his best to look at him objectively. Strong jaw, thin nose, kind blue eyes and dark hair that was still wet from his shower. Peter had barely given him any attention outside of making sure he wasn’t hurting his aunt, but now he went over every gesture, every conversation he could remember having with the man, and came to a conclusion.

“You’re a good person.”

Mark blinked rapidly at his response. “Thank you?” he said, bemused.

Peter shrugged and made his way to the couch. “I’m glad May found you. That you’re getting married, that you can take care of each other.” 

He picked up the compact remote and clicked the button, waiting while the entertainment system lit up. Mark moved to join him on the couch, wary enough that Peter felt a surge of guilt. Now that he’d made a decision and there was an end in sight, the fogginess had lifted enough for him to see how awful things must have been for Mark since Peter came back. 

“Thank you, Peter. I know it was a shock, to come back and have everything be so different.”

Peter’s lips lifted in a rueful smile and he shrugged. “A bit.”

“I hope you know that you have us, too. And I’m so, so glad that May got you back.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Do you want to watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine with me for a bit?”

Mark grinned. “Sure. I’ll make us some smoothies.”

It was easier than Peter thought it’d be, to spend the morning with Mark. More of the doubts that he was doing the right thing lifted. Mark really was a solid man who loved May. He’d make sure she was happy, that she was able to move on from Peter once and for all.

Mark left a few hours later for a shift at the hospital and Peter stretched. He walked to the window, taking in the view of the street below. He’d always loved how vibrant his city was and he wondered what it had been like with half its population gone. How lonely, how much pain everyone must have been in. Peter closed his eyes and let out a soft breath.

He’d overheard enough conversations, read the subtext in what Mr. Rhodes and Ms. Potts and May had said, to know that Mr. Stark had been crushed by what had happened and that most of that had to do with Peter falling apart in his arms. Had he felt the same way Peter had the past few months? Had he been relieved to pick up that gauntlet?

_ You can rest now. _

He turned and made his way to the bathroom. The time for self-reflection was over. He had a goal, he had a plan, and now it was time to enact it. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out May’s prescription for sleeping pills before making his way to his backpack and slipping it in next to Uncle Ben’s old prescriptions.

Then he sat down at his desk and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. It was cliche to leave a note, yes, but he had to make sure that May didn’t blame herself. This was all on Peter. He’d finally reached his limit of what he could handle, that’s all. He wrote out the words he’d shaped and reshaped and molded in his mind last night while laying in bed before he could think too much about it. Then he took a deep breath, picked up his backpack, and left his life behind.

He walked around for hours, saying a final goodbye to his city. He didn’t listen to music or let his thoughts wander. For the first time in almost six months, he was completely present in the moment. And...it hurt, to know he was leaving it all behind. Peter could remember loving life, gripping it with both hands, laughing and crying and just _ living. _

When the sun started to set he turned towards Hell’s Kitchen. Peter wasn’t positive what time it was since he’d left all his electronics behind, but May would probably be home in an hour or so. She’d find his note and then the search for him would begin. They’d be too late. He’d made sure of it.

Half an hour later he was slipping over a fence into the Hudson docs, the sound of water lapping against the wall almost drowned out by distant cars. Peter moved from shadow to shadow, his past as a vigilante hero coming in handy to avoid cameras or stray workers. Gravel crunched under his shoes and the air was turning frigid.

Then he was standing at the edge of the small pier, looking down into the water. _ My grave, _ he thought with a shiver. He swallowed and sat down after pulling his backpack off his shoulders, letting his feet hang over the ledge. His hands were shaking when he reached for the compartment holding the three pill bottles. Actually, his whole body was shaking.

“Keep it together, Parker,” he muttered to himself and lined them all up carefully next to him on the ledge. His feet were soaked when a boat sent a powerful wake against the wall, sending water splashing high. Damn, that was cold.

He took out a water bottle and opened the lid before setting it down, too. It was all the way dark, now. He tilted his head back to take in the few stars shining down through the light pollution of the city. It was hard to believe he’d traveled through those stars, died surrounded by them, only to come back to a nightmare. 

“I hope you won’t be disappointed in me when I see you again, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, fumbling for the lid of the first bottle. 

A handful of pills landed in the palm of his hand and before he could think too hard about it he was shoving it into his mouth and swallowing it down with water. After that, it was like he was moving on autopilot, gulping pills until the bottle was empty, then opening the next and repeating the process. Then a third time, until all three of them were empty and his stomach was roiling and burning with the knowledge of what he’d just done.

Peter was crying as he fumbled at his shoes. Though the pills would be enough to do some serious damage, he couldn’t be positive they’d actually kill him with his metabolism. There was a good chance he’d just wake up sick and miserable but completely alive later. 

He shoved off his jacket, then leaned forward, resting the heels of his hand on the rough wood of the wall and leaning forward to look down into the black water below. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” he sobbed before pushing forward. 

His body dropped through the air before landing in the water, the shock of the cold jolting him into awareness again, pushing back the grief and fear. For a long moment, he let himself sink, waiting until his lungs burned before swimming to the surface, gasping in air.

The point was to simply fall asleep, not die in horror while his lungs filled with water. No, the water was simply his insurance. After he passed out, he would sink beneath the surface. His spider-powers couldn’t save him from lack of oxygen. Plus, he liked the idea of simply floating away. 

He leaned back so that the water covered his ears, blocking out the world around him, and he was bobbing gently while looking up at the sky. There were tears on his cheeks again but he couldn’t tell if it was fear or guilt or relief bringing them forward. All of the above, probably. 

It was funny, how different this was from the first time he’d died. Peter had been so afraid, the feeling of his body falling apart had been so painful. He’d had so much to live for, then. That time, at least, he wasn’t alone.

It felt like a long time before he started to feel the effects of the pills, but Peter was pretty sure it was only a few minutes. He’d taken a lot, after all. His limbs grew heavier and his worries began to drift. It felt like he was at the end of a long day and had finally managed to drop into bed. Tension seeped from him and his eyelids drooped.

“‘S nice,” he slurred. 

The chill of the water receded and it took all his concentration to keep his head above water. He’d rather not go under until he was no longer conscious. 

Finally, finally, darkness closed in and with a sigh, Peter Parker let go.


End file.
